


when it comes to us

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>phil buys flowers, ones that he thinks are the prettiest and have the nicest smell, and dan doesn't say anything when he gets them. you can't blame him, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when it comes to us

It was a very sunny morning, and the birds that inhabited the trees surrounding the tiny home were chirping and filling the air with whistles and calls that Phil could hardly find annoying. It wasn’t rare to see such a bright sky in the countryside, especially nearing the end of summer, but he still took the time to admire it.

 

Phil sat in the garden behind the house, sketching the grove of trees lazily, his pencil tracing crooked lines on the laid paper; he had taken up drawing, even though he had to admit it wasn’t something he saw himself getting good at. Anything to pass the time these days was welcome to Phil. Anything to take his mind off of..well, just about everything.

 

If he listened close enough, beyond the birdsong, he could almost hear Dan in the kitchen, banging around with the pots and pans in the cupboard, preparing breakfast for the two of them. Phil felt himself smiling. He inhaled deeply, the scent of freshly cut grass and sunlight surrounding him. Getting out of London was probably the best decision he’d ever made, even if Dan hadn’t agreed wholeheartedly at first. 

 

It had taken some convincing, but the reward was plentiful, and Phil knew that Dan would be able to appreciate it as much as he did.

 

Now that the two of them were older, it was nice to live somewhere without all the hustle-and-bustle of the city. Sometimes, Phil missed being so close to everything. There had been a smoothie shop right down the street from their old flat that he remembered quite wistfully. The memories they’d made were portable, though; they’d always have them, and Phil found that they could easily make new ones here. Approaching his mid-30’s now, Phil often thought about the past. That’s simply what happened when you got older. Fearing the future was a hobby of his that he’d been trying desperately to stop doing, and so focusing on old times helped him go about his life. He was lucky to have Dan to share most of his experiences with. It had been a little more than a decade ago that Dan had come into his life. To think that 22 was that far away made Phil shudder. He  _ was _ quite old.

 

Phil enjoyed teasing Dan about his own age. While Phil was set on finally growing up, Dan was just the opposite. He seemed to be stuck at 25, even though he himself was turning 30 next year. Phil could never see Dan maturing, because to him, he’d always be the boy that popped in out of nowhere all those years ago. The boy who, upon knowing Phil for a grand total of two days, decided that he’d stick around. The boy who came by for tea with Phil’s mother and afterward decided to stay for the rest of his life.

 

The boy that Phil fell in love with.

 

It was strange to think that Phil had denied it at first. Well, he wasn’t really denying it, just not acknowledging it. He’d though it was a given that they’d be together for a very, very long time. Phil never saw that changing. And here they were now, after all this time together, still very much in love. It made Phil happier than anything to be able to have confidence in that.

“Do you remember the dog that got loose from the neighbor’s yard and broke through the fence?”

 

Phil heard Dan’s voice coming from behind him, where the back door led into the house. Without looking back, he let out a chuckle, looking towards the white fence that lined the property, a makeshift plank still in place of the hole that Dan referred to.

 

“What a day that was,” Dan said. Phil nodded.

 

“Yeah, that was also the day you almost made our lawn mower explode.”

 

“Hey!” Dan exclaimed, in mock exasperation. “How was I supposed to know what type of gasoline it ran on? What am I, a home and garden magazine?”

 

“No,” replied Phil, “you’re just a dork. But that’s okay, I wouldn’t have known either.”

 

With a huff, Dan went back inside. Phil didn’t notice the sound of the door clicking shut. A breeze carried the summer air, and Phil felt goosebumps rise up on his exposed arms. He got to his feet out of the lawn chair he was using and headed back inside the house. The kitchen was empty; Phl supposed Dan had reconsidered making breakfast and had gone back to sleep instead. It was a typical occurrence. 

 

Phil got to work on making pancakes. He took great pride in his recipe. It had taken a long time to perfect, but now he whisked together vanilla and eggs with ease, not even having to think about it. The small cottage was quiet apart from the sounds of his own baking; usually Dan was snoring in their room, but Phil couldn’t hear it from where he was. He hoped Dan wouldn’t mind him blasting music in the kitchen. Phil needed something to fill the silence. Soon, the griddle was spreading the scent of pancakes all throughout the house; Phil couldn’t wait to eat. He knew Dan could if he was tired, so he made sure to set a separate plate aside for him to have later.

 

Bringing the platter of his freshly-cooked breakfast to the dining room table, Phil sat down on one of the chairs. They were all quite rickety (he had gotten them from some old woman’s yard sale, so that might explain the condition) but Phil was used to it. He didn’t mind that most of the furniture in the house was old. It gave the place character, and character was always important. Along the wall hung picture frames of various sizes, shapes, and colors. They needed to be dusted, Phil could see. Past the dust were the smiling faces of himself, Dan, and their friends and family. There were old pictures from years and years ago; Phil smiled at the ones from his early 20’s and the massive mop of hair on his head. He laughed to himself as he chewed on his pancakes, looking over Dan’s childhood pictures and pictures of himself in primary school. 

 

The picture of the wedding hung in the center, as it was the biggest and had the most eye-catching frame. It was gold leaf and wooden, about the length of Phil’s entire arm. The picture it framed held the least amount of dust. 

 

They were both wearing identical suits. Dan, in the picture, was smiling up to his eyebrows, lines crinkling against the corners of his eyes, dimple popping out. Phil had turned his head at the last second, he remembered, to look across at him, and he felt a warmth in his chest as he looked at his own expression in the picture. Both of their hands were the focus of the camera; matching bands around their ring fingers shined even in the still. Behind them was the wedding party composed of their family and closest friends. They were all so happy, all attentive on the camera, and Phil hadn’t noticed before, but he was the only one not looking towards the photographer.

 

Because after all, the day was about Dan. It was about how happy he looked, and how wide his smile was, and how Phil only wanted to be looking at him. Pictures hardly captured what Phil was feeling, but he’d framed this one because Dan had been unaware of Phil’s staring.

 

Phil smiled to himself. It was a nice feeling, being in love, and knowing you’d never fall out of it.

 

He got up to put his empty plate in the sink. Rinsing his hands, he thought he heard quiet footsteps coming into the kitchen, where Phil stood with his back to the door. He felt slight arms around his torso as he had felt many times before.

 

“How’s about you come back to bed?” Dan’s voice tickled Phil’s ear, the whisper sending a slight shiver up his spine.

 

“Soon, love.”

 

Dan brushed his lips against Phil’s jaw, and as soon as Phil leaned a tiny bit of his weight up against Dan, he was gone, back to the bedroom. The smell of him lingered; something like brown sugar and salt that seemed all too familiar.

 

He’d said soon, but Phil had errands to run. 

 

The car was parked a little ways down the dirt driveway. Dan had insisted on buying one that they both could share, claiming that they would hardly ever be going somewhere alone. Phil had agreed, only if he got to pick, and he’d decided on a 2014 Honda Pilot; something sized right if they ever decided to add to the family. Phil threw open the door to the driver’s side and got in, sticking the key in the ignition.

 

The radio was playing one of the classical stations that Dan always loved to listen to; soft piano seeped through the speakers and Phil tapped his fingers mindlessly as he drove the road to the nearest town. One of the only downsides of living in the country was the long drive to civilization. It usually took Phil around 25 minutes just to see buildings appear on the side of the road. The nearest store was a small market, mostly fresh produce, and they had always done their shopping there. It was different than ordering groceries, like they had done in London, but Phil enjoy being around all the fresh fruits and vegetables. He liked being able to hand-pick everything. It was the little things like this that assured him of the control he now had over life.

One of the checking clerks, an older woman named Betty, greeted Phil as he walked through the market door.

 

“Hello dear!” she proclaimed, giving Phil a little wave. Phil sent a smile in her direction as he picked up a basket.

 

“Hello, Betty! Are you doing well today?”

 

“Peachy, dear, as always! How are you? Are you eating enough? You look awfully pale--”

 

Phil laughed. “I’m good, don’t worry!” He gestured to his body with his free hand. “This is always how I’ve looked. There’s no use in trying to change it.”

 

“Alright dear,” Betty said, waving him off. “Enjoy your day! Call me over if you need anything!”

 

Phil nodded, letting the corners of his mouth turn upward. He continued on further into the market, stopping to pick up a few apples and a crate of strawberries. There was a small kiosk off to the side, up against the wall, with a large sign hanging from one side. It looked new, and the handpainted letters spelled out ‘FLOWERS’. On a whim, Phil headed over and scanned the selection. The aroma was almost sickly sweet, and Phil tried to distinguish between the types of flowers he saw. There were roses, deep red and lighter pink. There were daisies and sunflowers, as well as a few other kinds he couldn’t identify. Phil thought. Doing nice things out of nowhere had always been more of Dan’s thing, mostly due to the fact that Phil never had any idea how Dan would react to surprises. Maybe that could change.

 

He stood there for about 10 minutes before picking up a premade bouquet full of daffodils, both white and yellow. They were very cheerful looking, and as he went through the checkout, Phil hoped and prayed that Dan would like them. They even had a pleasant smell, he noted, as he sat in the car driving and the AC wafted it through the entirety of the vehicle. Phil was quite proud; he was getting really good at this husband thing.

 

The sun was still high in the sky, and it was just a bit past midday. The late summer heat was rising up off the pavement as Phil continued to drive. Clair de Lune, a piece he recognized from the times Dan had played it, was on the radio, and Phil was breathing deep with the chords as they progressed. Directions had never been his strong suit, and even after living in the country for years, the winding roads and hills always threw him off, as well as the lack of landmarks.

 

The rusty iron sign for the local cemetery loomed up from the side of the road. Phil let his foot set gently on the brake as he took a left turn.

 

It was quite hot outside. Phil promised himself, as he pulled the flowers from the grocery bag, that he wouldn’t be too long. He needed to get home and put the fruit away before it could spoil in this temperature. His hand was gripping the bouquet gingerly as he walked from the car and through the rows of headstones, a faint path already woven through the thick grass. He’d never been good with directions, and yet it hadn’t taken him long to find what he was looking for.

 

Phil lowered himself to the ground, letting his weight shift so that his legs were crossed indian-style, and he set the bouquet of flowers down to his side. As if on cue, a breeze blew through the nearby tree, shuffling the leafs, and Phil felt settled.

 

“Hi, Dan.”

 

Phil says the two words he always does when he visits. As he places the flowers at the base of the headstone, he can’t help but run his fingers along the side of the smooth marble--white, something he had picked, and something he had hoped was suitable. 

 

**Daniel James Howell**

**June 11, 1991 - August 30, 2016**

 

**Son, brother, husband, friend.**

 

**_Everything about you resonates happiness_ **

**_Now I won't settle for less._ **

 

“I hope you’re doing alright, whatever it is you’re doing.” 

 

Phil’s voice sounded far away, even though the space he occupied seemed so compressed. He told himself he wouldn’t cry. Tears started streaking his cheeks, and he silently cursed himself, bringing up his hand to wipe them away as if he were being judged. Phil looked around; no one else was in sight.

 

“It’s been four years today. Isn’t that crazy? I wish you were able to see how the house looks now,” Phil said. “I’ve finished the paint, so now all the outside is the same color. It’s a very light blue, not white, sorry about that, but white would’ve been so difficult to clean. Oh! There are a bunch of flower boxes around the windows now. You always said it’d brighten the place up, and you were definitely right...”

 

Phil let himself ramble on about the things that had happened since the last time he had visited. He tried to come here as often as possible, but the house renovations had taken up a good portion of time this summer, and Phil hadn’t talked to Dan since late April. Today would’ve made it impossible not to be here, however.

 

Four years ago today. Four years since Phil had held Dan’s hand as he was laying in a bed that wasn’t their own; when Dan had been hooked up to machines and the doctors had tried to get Phil out of the room when he had crashed. Four years since Phil had said goodbye, even though he continued to not believe it. He didn’t ever want to go home, because there was no one to greet once he got there. There was no one to curl up next to at night, and no one to play the keys of the piano that sat gathering dust in their living room.

 

But as Phil sat here, it was the only time he could feel happy.

 

“I love you more and more each day, and I’ll keep loving you.” Phil had ended up laying on his stomach, legs outstretched, head resting on his arms. “I promised you forever, but… but now you’ll have to promise  _ me _ you can’t forget that even if you aren’t here. Wherever you are, you can’t let it get in the way of that.”

 

Dan would want him to be happy. Phil was rarely ever happy, but reassuring himself of the love he felt was a way to keep going. That’s what Dan would’ve wanted. It’s what Phil wanted for himself, as selfish as it was. Why should he get to feel happy without Dan? Why shouldn’t Dan get to be here too?

 

Phil brought his lips to the metal band on his ring finger. He spread his hand out on the grass just in front of the headstone.

 

“I miss you. And I love you. And I promise I’ll visit you more often. It must get lonely.”

 

Phil got to his feet and ran his hand along the top of the marble, and he began his walk back to the car. 

  
He could’ve sworn he felt the breeze as a breath at his side, following him home.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry.


End file.
